


You Bloody Stubborn Scot

by hunting_in_wonderland2



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander (TV) RPF, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Claire stays, F/M, Possible Spoilers, culloden au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-10-31 15:24:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17852150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunting_in_wonderland2/pseuds/hunting_in_wonderland2
Summary: I started this as a little creative writing exercise to get through some writers block I was having with some original works and before I knew it I had a few thousand words down so I figured I might share it. Claire stays after Culloden au. Jamie is saved again. Murtagh lives.





	1. Chapter 1

The English, unaware that the cottage was occupied, had not though to send a scout round the back. The slope behind the small croft was deserted as I dashed across it and into the thicket of alders below the hillcrest.  
I pushed my way through the brush and the branches, stumbling over rocks, blinded by tears. Behind me I could hear shouts and the clash of steel from the cottage. My thighs were slick and wet with Jamie’s seed. The crest of the hill seemed never to grow nearer; surely I would spend the rest of my life fighting my way through the strangling trees!  
I dashed aside the tears and scrabbled upward, groping on all fours as the ground grew steeper. I was in the clear space now, the shelf of granite I remembered. The small dogwood growing out of the cliff was there, and the tumble of small boulders.   
I stopped at the edge of the stone circle, looking down, trying desperately to see what was happening. How many soldiers had come? Could Jamie break free of them and reach his hobbled horse below? Without it, he would never reach Culloden on time. I stood there, watching from the protection of the stones that had brought me here nearly three years ago, thanking God that the English soldiers had been too occupied with Red Jamie to notice my escape. Behind me the stones made their horrible noise and before I knew what I was doing, I had turned and stepped towards them. I placed my hands on my abdomen. Could a child make it through the stones, even in such an early stage? I sat in front of the stones as I had once before. I had made a decision then, and I had another one in front of me now. I had no idea whether the child in me might survive the journey, I barely had myself. For that matter, there was no guarantee I myself would even make it back to my own time. I could end up too far ahead, or go even further back. I had already lost one child, could I bear the chance of losing another, the only physical connection to Jamie I had left?  
From my vantage point, I watched Jamie leave the cottage and stumble towards his horse. He was limping, but not badly, and there was no blood that I could see. No, I decided. It might be dangerous for me here, but even if all else failed, I knew I might find a safe refuge at Lallybroch. I remembered my earlier suggestion of disguising myself as a boy and following Jamie to the battle. If there was even the slightest chance that he would survive, I couldn’t leave him until I saw the outcome of today’s events with my own eyes. If he did die, I would keep my word and return to Frank, knowing there was nothing more for me here. If he lived, I wasn’t sure what we would do, but together we would figure something out, we always did.   
I waited until Jamie was out of sight before stumbling and sliding down the hill. I knew he would bring me straight back and push me through the stone crevice himself if he found out what I was up to. I paused outside the cottage, listening for any sounds of life inside. Praying the English soldiers were dead, or at least very unconscious, I crept inside, nearly tripping on a red clad body just inside the door. I bent down and pressed my fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. When I found none, I began to relieve him of his clothing, taking everything except the bright red jacket.   
As I left the cottage, I realized that although I had left my dress behind and tied my hair back, my facial features might still give me away as a woman. After a moment of thought, I knelt on the ground and wiped my fingers over a more muddy patch of grass and smeared the dirt on my face. Then, satisfied that that was the best I could do for my appearance, I set off in the direction Jamie had ridden.   
* * * * *  
I had been so focused on what state I might find Jamie in once I reached Culloden that I had forgotten altogether to think about how I would find him in the midst of a battle. I crouched, hidden by vegetation just behind the tree line, scanning the soggy field. Surely there couldn’t be very many over-sized Scots with flaming red hair and an obvious death wish on the field, I thought. After what had felt like days of crouching in the brush, my attention was caught by a blur of red hair a few hundred yards to my right. It had to be Jamie, I told myself as I crept slowly closer to the two men engaged in brutal combat.   
I knew what war looked like. I had been watching men of both armies take each other’s lives with the cold indifference characteristic of large battles. The fight I watched now however, seemed oddly personal. It was then I noticed the dark hair and familiar features of the man Jamie was fighting. I could tell Jamie was growing tired, and feared for him when I noticed blood seeping from a wound on his leg. I was wishing I had my medicine box with me and thinking over what I could do for him when I saw Jamie’s blade pierce the abdomen of Black Jack Randall. Both men collapsed in a heap of limbs and without thinking of my own safety, I moved to stand but a rustling from behind made me freeze.   
“And just where do you think you’re going lassie?” Demanded a familiar voice.  
Evidently Murtagh had not only recognized me instantly, despite what I had thought was my brilliant disguise, but had followed me with that silent tread characteristic of highland warriors. He had been on his belly in the brush no more than a few feet behind me this whole time.   
“I have to see to Jamie. He’s wounded.” I said. My voice sounded strange even to my own ears and I dimly noticed I was hyperventilating. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself. Get a grip Beauchamp, there’s work to be done.   
“Aye? How do you plan to do that then? Ye’ve no supplies to heal him with, unless ye’ve managed to hide your wee box down those breeches.” Murtagh said gruffly, eyes flashing down to my trouser clad legs.   
“I have to help him,” I insisted, turning to crawl out from behind the bush that blocked us from view of the field. Murtagh grabbed my arm and yanked me back.   
“The fighting may be done lass, but ye’ve seen battles before. Ye ken as well as I that ye’ll get yourself and the lad killed if you go to him now.”   
Every cell in my body wanted to tell him he was wrong. To turn and race across the field and fall to my knees beside Jamie, but I saw the redcoats swarming the field like bees in a field of flowers and knew he was right. I fell back on my bottom and crossed my legs, ready to wait. Murtagh kept his arm on me for a moment, thinking me likely to spring up and run as soon as he let go, but I stayed put.   
Despite everything, I found myself struggling to keep my chin from hitting my chest as I dozed sitting up. I tried to recall the last time I had slept and failed. It certainly hadn’t been the night before. I tried to remember if I had slept the night before that but couldn’t recall.   
“Lay ye down lass, I’ll keep watch,” Murtagh said, more gently than I had ever heard him speak before. I wanted to protest but sheer exhaustion won out. I collapsed gratefully onto a bed of wet grass, and fell into the kind of soul deep sleep that only comes from the kind of exhaustion brought on by war before my head even hit the pillow of muddy turf.   
* * * * *   
I woke to Murtagh violently shaking me awake. Quite a while must have passed. Though it had been cloudy all day, the dim light had grown even dimmer, indicating the beginning of sunset behind the clouds.   
“Get up lass. It’s clear for the moment. We’ll get him to that wee cottage over there so ye can tend him.” Murtagh whispered. I rubbed my eyes and nodded, still groggy, but alert enough for the task at hand. Murtagh peeked out from the foliage to double check but there were no English soldiers in sight. He waved me up and we sprinted across the field, feet squelching in the ankle deep mixture of mud and blood. I kept my eyes focused on the one small speck of dirtied red on the field and tried to ignore the rest of the bodies we passed. Even if some of them were still alive, there was very little I could do save perhaps comfort them as they died, and there were far too many of them for that.   
My heart stopped when we reached Jamie. There was little noticeable difference between him and the hundreds of other lifeless bodies we had passed to reach him. Murtagh heaved the body of Jack Randall off of Jamie’s legs and I quickly pressed my fingers to the dead man’s neck. No pulse. That was good. Murtagh caught my eye and I nodded grimly, assuring him that the bastard was finally dead. I pressed the same fingers to Jamie’s neck, not daring to breathe in case I missed even the slightest sign of life from him. My heart nearly burst when I felt a faint but steady pulse. I let out a strangled cry of relief and got to work assessing the physical damage while Murtagh tried to rouse him. He had a number of minor scrapes and a good deal of nasty bruises in the first stages of blossoming all over him but the worst of it was a long, deep gash on the inside of his upper thigh where I had watched Jack Randall cut him. I could see bone, and the veins around the wound were already showing signs of blood poisoning.   
“Can ye walk lad?” Murtagh whispered, keeping one eye on Jamie and one scanning the field around us. Jamie’s voice was a hoarse croaking.  
“I think…with help.” He managed. Murtagh nodded at me and we heaved Jamie up between us. His skin where I touched him was burning with fever. It was a struggle, but we managed to get Jamie to the door of the cottage when someone opened it from inside.   
“Murtagh man, thank Christ. We saw it was clear and were set to go out and look for Jamie when we saw the three of ye. And who’s this braw lad then?” Ewan Cameron asked gesturing to me.   
“This wicked thing, Ewan, is Mrs. Fraser,” Murtagh said with a wry half smirk. Ewan’s jaw dropped and he looked at me again, this time seeing past the breeches and mud.   
“So it is. Best ye all come in then Mrs. Claire.” I nodded my thanks and the three of us managed to maneuver Jamie into the cottage and lay him down. He had been upright, but barely conscious during the walk to the cottage and still hadn’t noticed me which I found worrying. Murtagh must have seen the crease between my brows and guessed my thoughts because he patted my shoulder in reassurance.  
“Dinna fash lass. When he comes to and see`s ye here, he’ll give ye a rare skelping, ye can be sure of it.”  
I gave him my best attempt at a smile and he snorted. Ewan leaned down and asked if there was anything I needed to see to Jamie’s injuries.   
“Normally I would say clean rags and hot water, but I doubt there’s any clean linen closer than Inverness at the moment and we can hardly risk a fire can we? Never mind sending men out to find water.” I thought for a moment, it was a long shot, but if any group of men were to have alcohol on them, it would be a gaggle of highlanders going to a battle. “Does anyone here have any whiskey on them?” I asked Ewan.  
“Not me mistress, but I’ll go and see do any of the others.” He quickly left my side and did his rounds, whispering in the ears of the men who were still conscious, searching the sporrans of those who were not. He brought me back three small flasks and handed them over wordlessly. I could hardly see anything in the growing darkness, but if we so much as lit a candle, we would all be dead. Resigned to the situation, I lifted Jamie’s kilt and felt along his thigh, assessing the damage by touch. It was as deep as it had looked. I poked my finger in experimentally and Jamie twitched violently when I touched bone.   
“Hold his leg,” I told Murtagh. He signalled at Ewan and the two of them bent over Jamie, one man holding him down just above the knee, the other with all his weight on Jamie’s hip. I combined all the liquid into one flask to make it easier and poured the alcohol into the gash. It wasn’t a treatment up to my standards, even knowing the limits of medicine in this century, but I knew it was all I could do under the circumstances. Jamie woke with a gasp and jerked up as soon as the alcohol hit the wound but Murtagh and Ewan managed to keep the leg still enough for me to finish my work. Jamie’s eyes were wild with frenzy and confusion. He looked straight at me, no, not quite at, he looked through me, as if he saw me but didn’t believe I was there, then his eyes settled firmly on Murtagh.   
“Murtagh man, is that you?” He asked. “I thought…one moment ye were fighting by my side and the next ye were nowhere to be seen. I had thought…” Jamie trailed off.   
“Aye,” Murtagh responded. “It was a bonny fight, but I did spot something else that needed tending to,” he explained with a nod towards me. Jamie’s gaze shifted and I leaned forward and took his hand in mine. He tensed and froze, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. It occurred to me then that he had noticed me earlier and thought I was in fact, a ghost.  
“It’s me Jamie, I’m here.” I said, brushing the hair away from his face.  
“Claire,” he breathed. Then his face contorted into a look of pure fury.  
“No!” he shouted. “I took ye back! I sent ye away! Ye were meant to go damn you!” he roared. Tears blurred my vision.   
“I couldn’t do it.” I whispered. “Not while you were still alive. If I knew for sure you were dead, I would have gone, but I had to come back, I had to see Jamie.” I was sobbing now, all the emotion of the last few days coming out.   
“Ye promised me Claire, ye gave me your word!” he whispered savagely.   
“I gave my word that if anything happened to you, I would go back. Well, you’re still alive, so here I am,” I said firmly.  
“Aye, and what kind of life do ye think I can give ye now? And what of the bairn? He had a chance…” Jamie took a deep breath and lowered his voice before speaking again. “He had a chance to have a father, in your Frank, and a safe life. I could have died a happy man, knowing my wife and child were safe from harm. Ye’ve taken that from me.” He finished and turned away, refusing to look at me.   
“Jamie –” I started to argue when he turned on me again.  
“Listen Sassenach. If I dinna die here like I meant to, it’ll be when the redcoats come knocking somewhere else. Ye had a chance Claire, and now my son will know no father. How could ye do that to the bairn? How could you come back and leave me with that knowledge?”  
I saw something in his eyes then that I hadn’t seen since I rescued him from Wentworth. That pure sense of hopelessness, of the lack of will to carry on, of ghosts that would haunt his mind forever.   
“You listen to me James Fraser. You are not dead yet, no matter how badly you might wish you were.” He snorted at that. “I will not let you die here. You will be a father to your child, and we will figure something out. There’s the two of us now.” I said the last very quietly, privately quoting his own words from our wedding night. Jamie was silent for what felt like hours, then he sighed, anger finally giving way to tears.   
“I suppose we must go on then. Since nothing in time or the universe can keep ye from me Sassenach.” He squeezed my hand then, and fell back into the deep sleep of pain and fever.   
Murtagh let out a hard breath that I thought might have been the ghost of a laugh.  
“Ye certainly married into the right family lass. Ye’ve the stubbornness of a Fraser about ye, to be sure.” I smiled, then curled up beside Jamie and let the blackness of sleep envelope me.   
* * * * *  
I woke to Murtagh shaking me awake again and Ewan Cameron whispering “redcoats!” in urgent tones. I sprung up, instantly alert and peeked out the crack in the door over Ewan’s shoulder. There was a line of English soldiers, armed to the teeth, but looking quite as exhausted as I felt, approaching the cottage. Murtagh moved before I knew what was happening. He quickly dragged me to the window at the far side of the cottage and had a hand out to boost me through. I stopped.  
“No, Jamie –” I started  
“Jamie will bide, but if you’re seen here, lass, the lad has nothing to keep him going.” Murtagh said. Before I could protest again, he had picked me up by the waist and hauled me through the window and into the cover of trees and gorse behind the cottage. Once again we waited. I strained my ears to hear what was going on when the leader of the troops stepped into the cottage. I couldn’t hear much, but managed to catch the words “traitor,” “shot,” “hour,” and “prepare.” The English soldiers all milled about, surrounding the cottage, but not bothering to stay too alert. Even so, there was no way to get back in now, and no way to get Jamie out. After some time had passed, the leader went back into the cottage with a handful of other soldiers. I heard the low voice of Duncan MacDonald say something and then saw him be led outside. He stood fast against the wall and was promptly shot. I sprung up, ready to sprint back to the cottage but Murtagh was faster and had me back down and his arm on my chest to deep me still.   
“I am sorry lass. Ye ken well the lad was as dear to me as to you, but there’s nay more to be done for him save see you safe. You and the wee one.” He said, glancing down at my stomach. “Come, I’ll see ye back to yon stones.” He said quietly, moving to get up.  
“No. If he’s going to die here then by God I will be by his side!” I insisted.  
“And what do ye think that would do to the lad? Ye think he’d be pleased to see ye shot wi’ him? Ye think he’d thank ye for the company? No Claire. I gave the lad my word a long time ago that I would care for ye as he would should anything happen to him and I’ll be keeping that word.”  
I broke down again. He was right of course. At least if I was gone, Jamie might be given some peace in his death with the knowledge that I was safe. If I were to die beside him though, that might be worse than death itself to him.   
“Fine. But I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere until I see him with my own two eyes.” Murtagh nodded and settled in to watch with me. They left the men who couldn’t stand on their own to the last. Finally, I heard Jamie’s low voice giving his name. He said it slowly, pausing between each name, like he always did. Like he had on our wedding day. The words drifted through the window of the cabin, carried to our hiding spot by the wind.  
“James Alexander Malcom Mackenzie Fraser. Laird of Broch Turach.” I held my breath, waiting for Jamie to emerge from his refuge so I could commit his features to memory one last time. But the Major came out of the cottage alone. He whispered something to a soldier that I couldn’t hear and the next man was brought out.   
Every man in the cottage now lay dead in a pit, except Jamie. For some reason, they had let him live. Perhaps they recognized him as Red Jamie and were saving him to take to the Tower of London with the other Jacobite leaders. I hoped not. If he had to die, let it be under the Scottish sky. At twilight, a wagon came and Murtagh and I watched Jamie be loaded into it like a sack of grain. At the drivers command, the horse leading it turned onto the road and started off, going, not South towards London as I had expected, but East, into the heart of the highlands.


	2. Home Again

Luckily for us, it was spring and had been raining heavily for the better part of two days, turning the dirt road to mud. Murtagh and I, careful to stay off the road, were able to follow the wagon easily enough. The mud made the going slow for the horse and cart. We had expected the wagoner to stop and rest for the night, but evidently he had been paid very well not to, so we kept on following until even in the dark, I slowly began to recognize the road we were taking. I had ridden it a dozen times with Jamie. The first time after I had sat at Craig na Dun for hours and decided to turn my back on my old life. Now again, after refusing the draw of the stones once and for all, I was following Jamie home. For whatever reason, luck, or fate, or divine intervention, that soldier had spared Jamie and sent him home.   
Having worked out where the wagon was taking Jamie, Murtagh lead me further off the road to circle around and approach Lallybroch from the side rather than by road. I gripped Murtagh’s sleeve so as not to lose him. Apparently the uncanny ability to see perfectly in complete darkness was a universal highland trait not limited to Jamie. Soon though, the sky began to lighten and the forest around us paled into the shades of blue-grey of a world in the moments before dawn. Murtagh stopped at the treeline and I barrelled into him despite the growing light. The wagon had just stopped in the dooryard to a chorus of yips and barks from Lallybroch’s resident guard dogs. Jenny came careening out of the house in her shift and cap, a shawl her only covering against the cold. She nearly crashed into the wagon and set a hand on the edge to steady herself. Ian came behind her, more slowly on his wooden leg, fully dressed. He had either already been up, or had not gone to bed – my bet was on the latter. We were too far away to make out the words, but I recognized the set of Jenny’s shoulders and the tone of an order barked at Ian and the wagon driver. The two men were obedient in Jenny’s stubbornly bossy presence. Between them, Ian and the wagon driver carried Jamie into the house, followed by Jenny frantically shouting orders at anyone who was awake to listen. Under normal circumstances, Highland hospitality would have had Jenny inviting the man to stay for breakfast and a rest before leaving, but war and injured relatives were more important than propriety, so the wagoner emerged in the doorway of the big house with a bundle of food and went on his way.   
As soon as the wagon was out of sight, Murtagh nodded and I sprinted across the fields towards the house, leaving him behind. Jenny was at the window of the sitting room, watching, and came barrelling out the door once more when she spotted me running madly towards the house. Both of us had gained too much momentum to stop and her small stout figure knocked the wind out of me when we collided.   
“Christ, Claire, thank God!” She squeezed me hard enough to suffocate before letting go. “Lord, I thought when ye werena wi’ him in the wagon…” tears welled in the corners of her eyes. “Well I kent as ye’d never leave him save ye were deid yerself. And thank Christ ye’re not.” She allowed herself a small moment of tenderness and relief before steeling herself to the task at hand, seeing to Jamie. She squared her shoulders and met my eye again. “Right. Now ye’re here, he needs tending. Badly,” she informed me, already walking back up the steps into the house, knowing I would follow.   
“I know. Have you woken Mrs. Crook?” I asked. She nodded.   
“I’ve set water boiling for ye, sent Mrs. Crook to fetch clean rags, left Ian in charge of whiskey, and I have willow bark tea steeping for the pain.”  
“Good,” I said. They had laid Jamie out on the pallet by the fire. Ian was crouched next to him and rose to hastily embrace me before dropping back to Jamie’s side. I squatted next to him and lifted the stiff, blood encrusted kilt to assess the damage. I drew in a sharp breath wishing for the thousandth time that I had access to modern medicine for my patient. Jenny appeared by my shoulder and saw what I did. The inflammation of the wound in his thigh and the dark red streaks of blood poisoning. I would have to reopen the wound, flush it out, and hope for the best. What I needed was my medicine box, but I had left that at Culloden house with Fergus. Fergus! In my worry about Jamie and the aftermath of the battle I had nearly forgotten about the small French boy until he appeared beside me looking like a ghost.  
“Here Milady,” he said groggily. He was holding my medicine box.   
“Fergus!” I wrapped him in my arms and the medicine box crashed to the floor.   
“Milord said you were gone, but I saved your box of potions when he sent me away. I knew you would return.”   
“Are you hurt at all?” I asked, pulling away to examine him. He looked exhausted, his small body hunched, his eyes hollow with deep bags under them, but he didn’t seem to be injured or ill.   
“No Milady, just very tired,” he said with a yawn.   
“Here a bhalach, lay ye down and have a rest aye?” Jenny said, patting a spot on the chaise next to the fire. Fergus curled up on the cushions and was snoring peacefully before Jenny pulled a blanket over him.   
Jamie was unconscious and fevered, his skin scalding to the touch.   
“Ian, can you get some whiskey in him? He’s going to need it.” Ian obediently lifted Jamie’s head onto his lap and muttered to him in Gaelic, coaxing Jamie into semi consciousness to pour a full glass of whiskey down his throat. Jenny took the glass and refilled it to the brim, taking a large gulp herself, before passing it on to me. I nodded my thanks and matched her sip, handing the last of it off to Ian who finished it gratefully. We would all need a bit of liquid fortitude to get through this. I rummaged through my medicine box until I found the scalpel I was looking for.  
“Right. Ian, I’ll need you to hold his leg still. Jenny, keep him from sitting up. This is going to hurt him.” They both moved into position and I sat poised above the wound with my blade. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and began to reopen the wound. Jamie gasped and his eyes flew open, but Jenny and Ian managed to keep him still. I had stopped when he moved, not wanting to risk a wrong movement with the blade in my hand. He settled and I went back to it but he squirmed again and screamed. He was in agony. That was good. When a wound was fatal, men stopped feeling it. I focused on the cut and blocked out Jamie’s screams of pain, ignoring them to get the job done. The gash was deep, down to the bone. I did what I could then cleansed it with boiling water and whiskey, the closest thing to eighteenth century disinfectants. When I came out of my healers’ trance, Ian was once again cradling Jamie’s head in his lap, stroking his hair and murmuring comforts in Gaelic. Jamie was whimpering. I couldn’t make out what he was saying at first but caught it as I was wrapping his thigh in the clean strips of linen that looked suspiciously like one of Jenny’s own shifts, freshly cleaned and sterilized in boiling water.   
“Let me die,” he muttered. Over and over, like a mantra. I knew he had meant to die on Culloden Moor. Between the fever and the aftermath of the battle, it was possible he thought he had hallucinated me. Between the pain in his leg and the pain in his heart, I believed he truly wanted to die.  
“I will not, you bloody stubborn scot, and that’s all about it.” I yanked the ends of the strip of linen, tying them together around his thigh with more force than I meant to. Jenny was looking at me with something I couldn’t quite place in her eyes. Something between admiration and fear perhaps? Though that wasn’t quite it. She had seen me healing and tending patients before, but hadn’t been there after Wentworth when I had done something similar, ignoring Jamie’s pain in order to set his broken hand. She had only seen Claire the healer, never Claire the veteran, Claire the war nurse. I had performed amputations on patients far more vocal than Jamie had been. But Jenny couldn’t know that.   
“That’s really all we can do for now,” I said. “We’ll have to keep watching him and hope it worked. He needs honey water, if we can get him to drink it.”  
“I’ll see to him Claire. Ye need rest yerself. Ye’ll do him nay good if ye keel over trying to tend him. When did ye sleep last?” Jenny asked. I tried to remember and realized I genuinely couldn’t. Murtagh and I had spent the entirety of the night before following the wagon to Lallybroch. It had been before the battle certainly, but how long before? I couldn’t say. Jenny gave a Scottish “hmph” when I couldn’t answer.  
“I thought so,” she said. I did need rest I knew, but I was also not willing to leave Jamie, even in the competent care of his sister.   
“I’ll sleep,” I said, yawning, “but I’m not going anywhere.” I stretched out on the couch beside Fergus and between the comforts of whiskey, fire, and family, was asleep before my head hit the pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

He was dead. Or if he wasn’t, he would be soon. He certainly wished he was, but he hadn’t thought of being dead as a painful affair – in a physical sense at least. His heart had been broken from the moment he left Claire at the stones, and the sharp pain of separation from her was something no amount of time could ever dull, whether it was spent alive or dead. He had a vague memory of her face floating in his field of vision in the cottage after the battle, but then it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had fever hallucinations. Or maybe it had simply been her ghost, come to fetch him to the afterlife. He tried to think about the logistics of that for a moment. Could a person’s ghost appear if they hadn’t even been born yet? Jamie shook his head, causing an explosion of white hot pain through his skull. Now was not the time to be tiring his brain thinking of the technical problems of time travel. He had meant to die, and had certainly tried hard enough. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to take deaths hand and go gratefully, if it only meant seeing Claire again. He thought perhaps he was in Purgatory, awaiting judgement, but he shifted himself slightly and felt the weight of a thick blanket on him. He wasn’t entirely sure what Purgatory would be like, having never experienced it himself before, but he thought it unlikely that whoever ran the place was in the habit of giving out blankets. He also thought that once one died, pain from physical injuries would disappear, but he was still in agony, therefore, he must still belong to the world of the living, for now.  
He was so hot he thought himself likely to burst and his entire body ached. This whole body ache was punctuated here and there with deeper sharper pains, like the one in his thigh. He thought that must be what was killing him. He had seen an uncountable number of men survive a battle only to die of wounds days, or even weeks later, and was not surprised that the divine should punish him in such a way. Though he did wonder angrily why God or fate had not seen fit to let him die on that bloody moor, why the higher powers insisted on his continued worldly existence. Perhaps it was not Purgatory he must suffer through after all, as punishment for the things he had done, but life. Life without Claire. The empty hollow in his chest was not something either Jenny or Ian could fix with any amount of time. The more he thought on it, the more appropriate the punishment seemed. Many of the sins he had committed (though certainly not all) had been for her sake. At least he could take some comfort in the fact that he had done everything he could to ensure his family’s safety. With Claire back in her own time and Lallybroch signed over to wee Jamie, whatever happened to him, everyone else would be fine.   
Lallybroch  
Jamie stiffened, unwillingly jolted further into consciousness at the thought of his home. He could smell it. A hot peat fire, the dusty scent of leather and parchment, good whiskey. He could hear it too. The tread of a foot on the creaky floorboard in the front hall, the clink and clatter of Jenny or Mrs. Crook making a meal in the kitchens. The footsteps from the front hall came slowly closer and someone kneeled beside him. He didn’t want to deal with being alive just yet, so he kept his eyes firmly shut and endeavoured not to move or make a sound. This was made much more difficult when whoever it was began poking and prodding at his sore spots. He was getting rather annoyed at these intrusions. All he wanted was to slip peacefully back into a sleep he would not wake from. The intruder touched the wound on his thigh and he gasped in pain and tried to sit up to give them a talking to but was too weak. His head flopped back down onto the pillow and he settled for opening his eyes to glare at his sister for her carelessness.   
“Leave me be. I want to die in peace,” he said, with as much malice in his voice as he could muster, though it wasn’t much. His voice was hoarse from disuse and raw still from shrieking in battle.  
“I will not ye great stubborn oaf, and ye’ll do no such thing.”  
Jenny’s stubbornness reminded him of Claire’s determination to heal him in the abbey after she’d gotten him out of Wentworth and a fresh burst of grief emanated from his core. He felt dizzy and sick. His sister recognized the look of nausea with the swiftness of a mother, hastily upended a bowl of yarn attached to what appeared to be a half finished pair of socks and shoved it in front of him just in time. When he was finished being sick, he took up glaring at his sister once more.   
“I am tired Jenny, let me be,” he whispered, wanting nothing more in that moment than to melt away and leave this place, and all its pain, behind. Jenny’s face softened from its usual expression of stubborn resolve to something else he couldn’t quite place. Was it pity? Grief? He thought it was maybe both, and something else too. The look was gone in an instant, but it had been there. She took a breath now, the kind she always took when she was about to give him Hell.  
“But Claire – ”  
“Is gone. Dinna ever speak that name to me again.”  
Another figure appeared in the doorway and he turned his head away and closed his eyes. He’d had quite enough of these disturbances and was determined to lay down and die.   
“I told you he wouldn’t remember,” the figure said.   
His eyes flashed open.  
Claire  
* * * * *  
Weak as he was, Jamie managed to sit up at the sound of my voice, fuelled, I thought, by a pure righteous fury at my being here. Jenny stood to leave us alone for a moment, stopping only to give my hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. She knew Jamie better even than I did, and knew too just what kind of verbal thrashing I was about to get. Jamie had lain unconscious for two days, and in that time I had told her what I could. I longed to tell her everything, but Jamie had forbidden it once, so I simply said he had tried to send me away to safety, and that I had stayed rather than leave him. I had seen a glow of approval in her eyes as I told her what I could and thought that if I had gone, she would never have forgiven me. I gave her the best smile I could muster under the circumstances, thankful for the support, even if she couldn’t ever understand just how angry Jamie would be. He had given me a chance to do what I had almost died trying to after we were first married, and I had given him my word and broken it.   
“It was you then, in the cottage.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded in confirmation anyways.   
“Ye were to go back Claire. Ye gave me your word that you would protect yourself and the bairn.” He was feeling, if not better, at least alive. His face was impassive as ever, which could only mean he was furious.   
“And you were to die on Culloden Moor, but here we both are,” I said. He huffed a distinctly Scottish noise of disapproval.  
“Well, I did try hard enough for my part, though it seems some greater power has decided I’m to suffer living for the moment.”  
I touched his forehead to check his temperature and, while still hot, it was much cooler than it had been. He jerked away at my touch and I revised my appraisal of how angry he was. I sat back on the floor and sighed.  
“I couldn’t do it,” I said, trying very hard to keep my voice and hands steady as I looked over his various injuries and checked his vital signs.   
“I couldn’t leave without knowing for sure. I hid in the heather and watched. I only intended to wait the battle out and check the bodies for you. If I found you dead, I would go then, knowing for sure there was nothing left for me here. But so long as you live, I can’t bring myself to do it Jamie, I just can’t. I had to see you dead with my own eyes before I could bring myself to go.” Despite my efforts to keep my composure, I was now sobbing.   
“But what sort of life will ye have here Claire, you and the bairn?” he asked furiously.  
“Even if I do live, I’m a traitor to the crown. A father in exile is no father Sassenach. Ye should have gone back to – to Frank, ye could have given the child a proper father.” I had considered it, sitting in front of those horrid stones, but there was a chance Frank wouldn’t even take me back. I would have returned mourning another man, another husband whom I had loved with everything I had, pregnant with his child. There was a very real possibility I would have gone back only to be alone in my own time. Here at least, even if Jamie had died, I knew with absolute certainty that Jenny and Ian would never let me starve or be alone. Our child would know its family. Perhaps my unwillingness to leave them was a result of my own lack of family growing up. I had no other children in the family, it was just me and Uncle Lamb for as long as I could remember, and Frank had only his parents. Then I’d come to Lallybroch and grown close with Jenny, known the joy and grief and welcoming warmth of a house filled with people. I had a place I belonged. Perhaps I didn’t want to let go of that sense of belonging as much as I didn’t want to let go of Jamie. I said as much to him between racking sobs. He sighed and took my hand.  
“Aye. Aye, I suppose you’re right about that Sassenach. I do wish ye’d listen to me now and then though.” His anger had all but faded now, he was too tired to sustain it for long, I could tell.   
“Keep wishing then,” I said smiling for the first time in weeks.   
* * * * *  
I had left Jamie to rest some more and was gathering medical supplies and a small basket of food to take on my customary round of the nearby crofts in search of patients when Ian came out of the barn and motioned for me to walk with him. I had known this talk was going to come sooner or later, but had hoped it could wait at least a few more days, at least until Jamie was well enough to get out of bed. I followed Ian in companionable silence until we were out of earshot of the house and dooryard.   
“He’s on the mend then?” He asked casually.   
“Yes. He’s not likely to be walking any great distance for at least another fortnight but his fever has broken and the wounds are healing. He should be able to limp about the house in the next few days,” I said carefully. With Jamie awake now, we would have to start thinking about what to do next. From what I remembered of history books and conversations with Frank, the Highland clearances would start all too soon. There could be redcoats here any day now announcing the bans on highland culture and taking forced oaths of loyalty to King George. When they did come, Jamie could under no circumstances be found cozied up on the settle in the front parlour. There was the priest hole of course, but even the threat of imminent death could not keep him confined to there for long.   
Ian’s brow was creased with troubled thoughts.   
“Aye, aye,” he muttered. “He’ll no lose the leg then? Jenny did say as ye might have to take it off to save the rest of him.” I glanced at Ian’s own leg which had been amputated at the knee some years before in France. While Ian fared well enough on his wooden leg, we both knew Jamie was not the kind of man that would take life without a limb well – he often become frustrated enough with his crippled hand.   
“No, we’ve managed to keep him in one piece for now,” I told him. Ian was taking us up into the trees behind the house, evidently this excursion had a destination.   
“We’re no going to turn ye out Claire. You or Jamie, or the bairn,” Ian said, looking pointedly at my still flat belly. He waited for the shock on my face to fade a bit before continuing. With all the fuss over trying to keep Jamie among the living, I hadn’t yet had time to tell anyone about my pregnancy.   
“Jenny told me. She can tell almost sooner than most women themselves can ye ken? She’s a knack for that sort of thing.” Of course Jenny had known, she had a knack alright. I let out a breath of relief, I had thought Ian was going to tell me we had to leave, but of course Jenny would never hear of that. I nodded my thanks and understanding but stayed quiet.   
“We can maybe pass you off as Jamie’s widow for a time, when the English come knocking, but Jamie canna stay in the house. Even wi’ the priest hole there’s too great a chance someone will find him. Besides, ye ken well what the man’s like. He canna keep still if his life depends on it, and it does now.” Ian stopped at the bottom of a steep incline shrouded in trees. So that was it, he’d made Jamie a hide out in the woods. He pointed to a spot halfway up the hill.   
“D’ye see anything just there?” He asked. I squinted, trying to find the entrance to a cave or something of the sort, knowing that Ian hadn’t brought me up here for the fun of it, but try as I might, I could make out no trace of anything save trees and moss and told him so.   
“Good, good. Follow me then,” he said unnecessarily. Ian made it up the steep incline with surprising ease despite his wooden leg while I struggled on hands and knees behind him. He pulled aside a growth of gorse to reveal a narrow opening in the rock face and gestured for me to go in. The narrow entrance widened into a small cave, inside which I could just make out a stool, a small wooden table, a large candle, and a stack of books. I was confused for a moment, thinking Ian was showing me the cave for my own use. He limped past me, ducking under the low roof of the cave and placed his hand gently on the pile of books.   
“I ken he’ll go mad wi’ boredom if he’s not got something to keep his mind busy” he said softly. I realized belatedly that the cave was not for me, but for Jamie. Of course. He couldn’t stay in the house, we all knew that. His presence would put everyone in even more danger than we would already be in on our own, but Jenny would never truly turn him out. I now knew Ian had shown me the cave for two reasons. So that I would know where it was and how to find it again, and so I would know Jamie was safe.   
“Thank you,” I whispered. Ian nodded and turned to start back to the house. I followed.


End file.
